The Journey
by Joan Powers
Summary: Two people coming together signify the beginning of the journey rather than the end. GSR


The Journey

By Joan Powers

**A/N**: My attempt to put together the meager trail of GSR breadcrumbs sparsely scattered throughout Season 6. Thanks to Ms. Grits and PhDelicious for their input.

**Type**: G/S angst, G/S romance

**Summary:** Two people coming together signify the beginning of the journey rather than the end. **GSR**

**Spoilers/Timeline:** Post "Way to Go" Season 6 finale

**Rating:** T/R

As a kid, I remember that my mother loved reading to me. In fact, I'm sure that her enthusiasm for books fostered that passion within me as well. At that, time fairy tales were her favorite choice. Frankly even then I preferred more factual material about insects or animals, or at least stories with action such as Jack and the Beanstalk or Treasure Island. Yet, occasionally my mother would insist upon sharing more traditional female fare such as Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty. After all, I was her only child.

Even at the age of five, I was a pragmatist or as my mother would claim -- a cynic. I would pester her with questions. I had doubts about the veracity of the platitude that "true love conquers all" and the reality of the 'happily ever after' endings. Her eyes sparkling, my mother would simply grow quiet and smile tolerantly at me.

I've never been very good with relationships. Somehow at a crime scene when I'm in my element, I can pick up minuscule signals. I can decipher the smallest of clues. However my investigative skills are not as well honed when it comes to focusing on human beings. Then again, that's not exactly true either. I can tell when a suspect is lying or consumed by deep shame or fear. I can interpret that body language. It's only when it comes to illuminating behavior that directly touches me, in a personal fashion, that I experience difficulty.

Not that I'm afraid of women. Far from that, I know how to play that game. It's always been easy for me to read their signals -- the subtle tilt of the chin, the low throaty laughter, and the feeble excuses to prolong body contact. When I was younger and in the mood for company, I became skilled at discerning between those women who were interested in sex versus those who were more emotionally invested and wanted more from me. I tended to avoid the latter type, fully aware that I was unable to give them what they needed. My work was my passion, my highest priority; those women would never accept that.

Over the years I've had some wonderful interludes with beautiful and intelligent women. Yet I wouldn't consider my involvement with any of those women to be a formal relationship. My neat, orderly associations had discretely set and implicitly understood guidelines and expectations such as: I do all the calling, no visiting me at home or work – ever, I always use a condom, and no sleeping over. Relationships, on the other hand, were messy, chaotic, and ill defined by nature. In short, they frightened me. For years, I never even thought that I wanted to pursue one. I was content with my casual affairs. My career was sufficient to sustain me.

Besides, I honestly believed that the concept of true love or falling in love was a myth, merely an expression invented to explain the tantalizing rush produced by powerful pheromones as a result of mutual sexual attraction. That's the way the rest of the animal kingdom propagates the species. I suspected that given the divorce rate, it was easy to confuse supposed true love with more common primal lust.

It was only when I met Sara at that forensics seminar at Berkeley that I began to feel differently. Though it would've been one helluva two weeks, I sensed there was more there than a brief sexual encounter would satisfy. For some reason I ignored those warning bells going off in my head; my heady attraction to her beauty and intellect thoroughly distracting me. For the first time in my life I was completely captivated by a woman.

We'd have coffee after lectures, sometimes lingering for several hours discussing forensics, world events or literature – never anything especially personal. My attraction to her was so strong that I was sorely tempted to push for sex; I sensed she would be receptive to my advances. Yet I didn't want to wreck it, it was such an unfamiliar sensation. I'd never felt so entranced by a woman on both a physical and intellectual level.

After our last class, we spoke at our table near the window while the dregs of our coffee solidified on the bottom of the cups, rambling on about nothing in particular, trying to postpone my inevitable departure. Rather than pressing for a last minute fling and the probable end of our association, I impetuously broke my own rules and eagerly shoved my card into her hand, urging her to keep in touch.

Something about Sara enticed me, fascinated me. Over the next year or so we exchanged occasional brief emails. When Holly Gribbs was shot at a scene, instinctively I knew whom I could trust implicitly outside the confines of my group. Although our time together had been brief, a bond had been forged between us.

Inviting Sara to Vegas was a bold move for me, one which I hadn't thought out completely. It's one thing to dwell on the pleasant distant memory of a coffee date in a far away daydream type sense. When that person is next to you in flesh and blood, when your pulse starts to race in response to the sound of her voice or the casual brush of her hand against you, it's a different ball game. I started to wonder if I'd taken on more than I could handle.

However as I suspected, it was a pleasure to work with Sara. We complimented each other at crime scenes, anticipating one another's moves. At first we flirted and generally enjoyed working together. Then the tremendous potential of the situation hit me. It felt like a bomb ready to explode, both frightening and yet strangely exhilarating. Still, I sensed she wanted more from me, something I wasn't sure that I could give her. Sara Sidle would never be content with a casual fling.

And for once, I didn't think I would either.

But, at that point I wasn't ready to change my ways. I honestly didn't think that I could be that deeply involved with a woman and still meet the demands of my job. My career had always been my first love, my true passion. And what if once Sara really got to know me, she was disappointed? What if I laid my cards on the table opened my heart to her and she left me? It would destroy me. That paralyzing fear of rejection overwhelmed me. Slowly, regretfully, I began to retreat.

The fact that my otosclorosis started to flair up didn't help matters. It only caused me to withdraw further from the world in general. It was a frightening time for me, being forced to face the possibility of an uncertain future. My ego had become frail. If I lost my hearing, how could I do my job effectively? And without my job, who would I be?

Sara's timing couldn't have been worse when she asked me to dinner. Having just started to face the reality of my hearing problem, I couldn't take on anything else. Unfortunately, after my world had finally returned to normal, I sensed that I'd blown it, that I'd disappointed her too many times. The spark which had initially ignited between us seemed to be fading.

After that incident, I tried to avoid Sara. I managed to delude myself into thinking that my attraction to her hadn't been real, that I'd made it into more than it could ever be in reality. I kidded myself, believing that I was moving on and so was she. Then I came face to face with Debbie Marlin's bloody corpse and it hit me. Surrounded by those photos of a woman that so eerily resembled Sara, I mourned the loss of something that could've been wonderful, of what Sara and I could've shared together.

But it was too late. Or so I thought.

Sara's near DUI showed me that she'd been having difficulties. That night when I drove her home, we didn't talk much but it seemed to open the door for rebuilding our foundation, allowing us to cautiously start again. It was a slow process, yet within months we'd started to regain some of the camaraderie and trust that had previously existed between us. I was both stunned and flattered when Sara told me about her parents and her abusive past.

Even then, I made mistakes, almost inadvertently sabotaging our fledgling efforts towards reconciliation with my behavior towards Sofia. While I've never been interested in Sofia, flirting with smart, attractive women comes naturally to me. It was meaningless. I'd invited her to dinner that night merely to convince her not to leave the lab short handed. Only months later I discovered that Sara had viewed my actions quite differently. I'm amazed that she didn't give up on me.

Other things changed that year as well. While I'd never had any desire to head the division, Ecklie's promotion astonished me. Why would the department chose to reward that man's inept science? It made no sense. Then again, as Catherine would say, I never was a political creature. For the first time it occurred to me that performing my job well wouldn't necessarily guarantee future rewards or advancement. Ecklie splitting up my team only reinforced this notion. My job wasn't the safe haven I once believed it to be.

Perhaps if life had continued at that pace, Sara and I would've gradually evolved into being a couple, since I was finally starting to realize that the job alone was no longer sufficient, and that if I wanted Sara to be part of my life, I needed to focus more on her. At that point I made a conscious effort not to flirt with other women, as a sign of my intentions. For a normal couple, the relationship would've started with a dinner date here, a kiss there, maybe holding hands at a movie or show, eventually building up to the big moment. But nothing had ever been normal between Sara and me.

When Sara was attacked and nearly harmed by that inmate at the hospital for the criminally insane, closely followed by Nick's horrible ordeal, it was too much for me to bear alone. It only drove home the temporal nature of life itself -- it could change in an instant; there never had been any guarantees.

I needed her. Badly.

I offered to take her home from the hospital after we'd checked on Nick's condition. We made love that night in her bed.

It should've been easier from that point. Overcoming the intense fears about relationships that I'd harbored for years should've been the hardest part. And if falling in love wasn't a fallacy, then perhaps 'happily ever after' was within the realms of possibility. I was flying high from the rush of finally being with Sara.

Still, as much as I wanted to change, it was hard. Practically 50 years old, I was used to being alone, and in complete control. With Sara, that was no longer the case. Sometimes I resented that my emotional state had become dependent upon her. I beamed when she claimed that grey hair was attractive, and cringed over cryptic statements like "maybe some people shouldn't be together". I wasn't accustomed to so many fluctuations.

As part of my nature, I wanted to be organized. That's how my previous associations had functioned. Tuesday at her place, Thursday at mine, and then we'd alternate places over the weekends, always taking separate vehicles. That way I could be assured of some private time. Yet as much as I made up rules to maintain order, they never seemed to suit my needs. On off nights, I found myself craving her company, while on many scheduled nights, I preferred to be alone. Why was I being so contrary?

Sometimes I felt completely satisfied with Sara as the center of my entire world while other times I felt as if I were suffocating around her. I didn't want to have to check in with anyone. I didn't like feeling beholden or having to explain my actions to anyone. I didn't want her to change me. It confused me.

Despite our growing pains, I was thrilled to have Sara in my life. She added richness and depth that had never been there before. I'd never had anyone to share my life with; I'd never wanted it. Knowing that Sara loved and accepted me, even after she grew closer to me boosted my confidence. It didn't seem to matter what we were doing, if I was with her, I was happier.

Like I said, our relationship wasn't always perfect. There were times when I obsessed that I was losing a part of myself and I'd subconsciously pull back from Sara as a result. She didn't always appreciate that. The last time I didn't show up at her place when I was supposed to, she retaliated by not showing up at my place for the entire weekend. That was painful. So painful that it prompted me to re-evaluate our situation.

As much as I loved her, I wasn't sure I could handle all the ups and downs associated with our relationship. It was hard for me to adapt. However after a weekend alone, I asked her to move in with me, as a peace offering, but more importantly to avoid suffering through that again. I'd finally decided that while life with Sara would always have challenges, it was far better than life without her.

We never went out much. We'd never needed those formalized courtship rituals. Dates didn't seem necessary; somehow we'd bypassed that phase. It was much nicer to share take out at one of our places or relax in bed on our days off while leisurely perusing the Sunday paper. I felt comfortable lounging in old flannel pajama pants with holes in the knees as we'd read forensic journals or watched Discovery Channel. It was enough; in fact it was more than enough.

I was content.

It took us a while to develop our communication skills, both being reserved people. I was surprised how easily "I love you" and other silly endearments slipped out of our mouths. Though I wasn't eloquent, it was shockingly easy to express my affection for Sara. Other issues were harder to broach.

In general I tend to avoid conflict at all costs in every aspect of my life, sometimes ignoring problems until they escalate dangerously and demand attention. Even with Sara, it was hard for me to approach her with these issues such as my need for privacy. I didn't want to offend her. Hell, sometimes I'd be annoyed with her and not even understand specifically what was bothering me. Over time I came to discover that Sara had her own issues with me.

Not that we talked about everything. It was better not to dwell on the past; we mostly focused on our lives together. We seldom discussed old boyfriends or girlfriends, they didn't matter anymore. That was all behind us. We didn't need to rehash painful memories.

I was pleased the other day that I seized the opportunity in the conference room to indirectly let Sara know that I had been intimated by her beauty and afraid of rejection over the years. I think she already knew that, but it was a relief to finally put it into words and get off of my chest. Although it wasn't the proper setting, she understood.

It's funny, last year Nick's ordeal brought us together. These last few days, dealing with Brass's injuries have shown me that we've forged a solid foundation. After returning home from the hospital, it was wonderfully soothing to bury myself in Sara's arms. We even talked about our fears for Brass and our feelings about death.

I can't imagine my life without her.

Those fairy tales were still wrong. They focused only on the obstacles involved in the journey of finding true love, propagating the myth that once love has been found and mutually acknowledged then everything will be perfect from then on. But would Cinderella's overnight transition from servant to princess have been flawless? Wouldn't Sleeping Beauty have challenges adjusting to how the world had changed over her decades of slumber? In a sense their journeys had only just begun, and would always be continuing until death.

As foolish as it sounds, I'd made the same mistakes in my life, treating love as if it were an objective to be achieved rather than a process in the making. Ultimately, it is journey itself, rather than the goal or destination that gives life and love a sense of purpose and meaning.

**THE END**

I'd love to hear if you agree or disagree with my interpretations of GSR moments.

This story was partially inspired by the song, "We may never pass this way again" by Seals and Croft, which wouldn't get out of my head during the writing process. "Life is a journey and you're the journey's end"


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